


The Art of Dating

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blind Date, Drug Use, Drugs, F/F, Recreational Drug Use, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: Based on the prompt:the waitress is set up on a blind date by one of her friends (i know she canonically has no friends but bear with me here) and it [spoilers!] turns out to be artemis. the waitress almost just leaves on the spot but she decides to stay and they actually really hit it off. feel free to include as much bad-mouthing of the gang as you see fit.





	The Art of Dating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firstlovelatespring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlovelatespring/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SunnyRarePairs2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs2) collection. 



> prompter didn't specify a rating so i just went with where it lead me and yeah, this happened! 
> 
> The decor of Artemis' apartment was taken from 'Being Frank' and as much as i could from [this](https://artemisdee.tumblr.com/post/171866711967/what-can-we-find-in-artemis-apartment-what-are#notes) post. 
> 
> Hope you like it :D

The Waitress checks the time. He’s late.

She fights back a yawn and twists the laminated menu in its stand, thumbing one corner where the plastic has softened and curled over. She considers ordering something but she’s kind of hoping that her date’s going to cover the order, so she twists the menu some more. Besides, the waiter looks stressed out of his mind. She doesn’t want to bother him with asking for a third glass of tap water.

Maybe she’s being stood up. Maybe she should just go home. She’s had a long day of… nothing, really. And it wouldn’t hurt to continue doing nothing in the comfort of her own home. Still, she’s kind of hoping that this thing actually plays out. She hasn’t been on a date in a long time. It was hard when she had to work so much… and then Charlie started to stalk her… and she somehow kept getting involved in his and Dennis’ games and, much to her own dismay, she has seriously debased herself a number of times... She could blame so much of her life on them, but the truth is that it’s not just them. She has come to face the fact that she has become an undateable woman in her 40s. Upgrading to a smartphone and installing a variety of dating apps has really solidified that statement. No man on earth is interested in her. (Except Charlie.)

She heard somewhere that there’s more women than men in the world. Guess she’s just one of the women who has to be single by natural selection or something. Well, hopefully not after tonight… She doesn’t have a fancy app to thank for this date either, it’s thanks to her AA group members. They knew someone, evidently, despite each of them struggling with romance themselves. It’s a dark secret of hers that she finds comfort in that her friends’ lives are just as loveless as her own. How sick is that? Shouldn’t she want them to get better and find love - not join her in her own pity party?

Well, they’ve shown her kindness in setting her up on this blind date. She’s just hoping that this ‘Art’ person isn’t A) another stalker like Charlie, B) another douchebag like Dennis or C) an addict like herself. It’s not like that criteria is impossible to meet, yet The Waitress has low hopes considering she’s been set up by equally lonely and struggling addicts just like herself, when really, she should be happy that this person has agreed to it at all.

She aligns the salt and pepper pots so that they fit neatly beside the sugar pot but realises that they were positioned the way they were in order to cover a pair of stains on the table. She moves them back despite being unhappy with the asymmetry of the condiments. She supposes she needs to stop thinking so negatively. This is her first date in ages! Someone actually agreed to meeting her! The things her friends told her about this ‘Art’ person actually sound really nice!

The Waitress pulls out her phone and checks the message that her AA friend sent her:

 

_Alluring_

_Reliable_

_a Top_

_Extrovert_

_Magical_

_kInkesthetic thinker_

_Spontaneous_

 

She assumes ‘kInkesthetic thinker’ is a mistake for kinesthetic learner… either way, anyone who describes themselves as ‘alluring’ straight off the bat can’t be joking around. It’s… sexy. She bets this ‘Art’ dude is tall, but not too tall that he dwarfs her. Dark hair, glasses maybe… hopefully not the pretentious kind of guy to carry a book around wherever he goes, and to read out of it unprompted. The Waitress dated an artist like that once, to see what all the fuss was about.

Total. Douchebag.

No. Arthur (she’s guessing that’s what ‘Art’ is short for) is going to be this above average height, brooding man who’s mysterious but not in the ‘I’m a misogynist murderer’ way, and more in the ‘secretly romantic and caring’ way _. Magical._ Maybe he’ll bring flowers. A bouquet of purple roses to match the color he requested her to wear. _Reliable._  He’ll be interesting, but a good listener too. And their first date will go so well that he’ll ask her on another, and another, and her mother won’t berate her at family gatherings anymore for being single at her age.

She sits up in her booth. Hopefully Art can see her from her spot. She’s wearing purple but not a whole lot of it… Just a satin boob tube dress that she pulled out of a thrift shop. It’s maybe a size too small but it’s making her tits pop so at least she has something going. While she waits, she applies more lipgloss - another thing she hasn’t used in a very long time. It adds to the stupid giddiness she’s getting with hoping that Art’s going to be just who she hopes him to be, which is also helping her feel less exhausted.

As she clicks the clasp in her compact mirror and is sliding it back into her purse, a flurry of purple and animal print washes passed her peripheral vision, then someone sits down on the vinyl booth seat opposite her. The smile falls right off her face when she sees who it is.

“Artemis??” She stammers, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Hey girl, I’m your blind date!” Artemis flashes her a grin. “You look enchanting as ever.”

The Waitress barks out a laugh, then freezes to stare at Artemis, completely speechless. Artemis plucks the plastic menu out of the holder, proceeding to fold it out flat on the table and peruse her options. The Waitress watches her do this and is so shocked that rather than taking in the absurdity of the situation, all she can seemingly do is let it happen. For a moment, Artemis quirks an eyebrow at her, a curl in her lips, and she goes back to looking over the menu.

“Our mutuals say we have _many_ things in common,” Artemis says, trying to break the ice. “But what they don’t know is that we’ve both banged the same men, ha!”

The Waitress’ mouth drops, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. Artemis leaves the menu and adjusts her purple scoop neck shirt.

“Darling would you give me that mirror you were using for a sec?” She says, wagging her fingers. The Waitress snatches her purse so Artemis grabs the napkins dispenser and uses the shiny metal side to check her purple lipstick.

The Waitress clings onto her purse, weighing it against her beating heart. After a few moments, she is finally able to speak. “I thought Art was short for Arthur!”

“Art is short for _moi_ , Artemis, a work of art,” She says, primping her hair now in the distorted reflection.

“Yeah…” The Waitress stammers. Her initial shock is over, her body starting to relax. Clearly this has been a huge misunderstanding.

The napkins dispenser makes a slight clunking noise when she drops it back on the table. She hails the waiter and orders herself something. “What would you like, babe?”

“Stop calling me pet names, my name is-”

“Sorry to rush you,” The waiter interrupts, “But I’m kinda short staffed so if you’re not ready to order, I’ll come back later.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m leaving anyw-”

“She’ll have what I’m having, thank you!” Artemis says, promptly folding up the menu and pressing it in the holder.

The waiter scribbles down the order and rushes off, leaving The Waitress to stare gobsmacked at Artemis.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re having dinner. Don’t worry, everything tonight is on me,” She says with a wink.

The Waitress comes around to herself. She should take this as a win that, without even really saying anything outright, her friends have realised that she isn’t straight. Unless it was meant to be a practical joke. And if so, the joke’s on them because she _is_ interested in women _and_  a free meal is on the table. Take that!

“...Thank you.”

She stops grappling onto her purse like she’s carrying a bag of diamonds and settles back into the booth, opting to make the best of the situation. Sure, she doesn’t know Artemis too well, and their connection to each other ia mortally embarrassing, but come to think of it, The Waitress doesn’t think she’s ever really hung out with Artemis just the two of them. She supposes she has always been suspicious of her integrity considering she’s one of Dee’s good friends… that in itself tells The Waitress that Artemis musn’t be a very good person. Then again, _she_ thought she was friends with Dee for a while, before realising that she was being used. She needs to not be so judgemental. Her therapist always says taht she needs to stop putting any value to anything that _those people_ do or have done. So if she takes Dee and Frank out of the equation, then she can start with Artemis on a clean slate…

“So… was any of the stuff on your profile real?” The Waitress asks. She reads off the list, “Reliable… Kinesthetic learner-”

“ _Kink_ esthetic thinker,” Artemis corrects her, her eyes lighting up.

“Oh, so that wasn’t a mistake…”

The Waitress stares at the list again and, for the first time, noticing that each of the capitalised letters spell out ‘Artemis’. She presses a hand to her face. How did she not notice this before?? She drops her hand to her lap and looks limply at Artemis. God, she’s so fucking stupid. Of course her friends didn’t have an ulterior motive here because they’re not the douchebags she’s used to being around.

She finally _properly_ looks at Artemis. Scrubs away her imagination of ‘Art’, tries to buff away the perception of her she’s been force fed by Dee, and sees a woman happy to be here. Excited, even. A light in her eyes. Green eyeshadow working to brighten her irises. Thick, curly brown hair framing her face. Chunky jewellery dangling from her ears and adorning her neck, wrist and fingers. A leopard print fur shrug around her shoulders. She’s as dressed up as The Waitress. She’s here to make this work.

The Waitress’ eyes flicker across Artemis’ lips and she realises that Artemis has been talking the whole time that she’s been checking her out...

“...Ageplay, BDSM - I recently acquired a whole new kit to try out that I can have ready for us in 15 minutes if you want to get straight into it.”

It only takes two syllables to make The Waitress press her back flat against the seat. When Artemis finishes, she says, “No, no! I don’t… I don’t want any of that. I just wanted to go on a nice, normal date…”

Artemis’ cheeky grin softens. “Normal? I can do normal just fine,” Then adds, “Hey, let me apologise. I know I can be full on. Deandra always told me how full on I am.”

“Are you kidding? Dee’s the one who’s full on,” The Waitress says, “Do you still talk to her?”

“That bitch? Hell no!”

The Waitress smiles. “You know, I have to say, this is not how I was expecting this night to go at all, but… I think that’s good? I think I need this,” She says softly. Artemis returns her sentiment with a warm smile, which The Waitress interupts by suddenly exclaiming, “Wait - aren’t you dating Frank?!”

Artemis waves a hand dismissively. “Oh God, no. No, no, that’s all over.” The Waitress thinks that might be the end of the topic, but Artemis continues, “ We more or less mutually arrived at a point where we had exhausted all possible sexual positions and found that we were uninterested in each other. It was _boring_ , so extremely boring. Oh, I do miss that man though. Franklin let me do _anything_ I wanted to his body. The only thing I didn’t get to do with him was a threesome with Dennis to play up the father/son thing. I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t technically incest because Frank isn’t Dennis’ biological father. It would  just be roleplay, but Dennis wasn’t into that.”

“Was Frank?!” The Waitress asked, horrified.

“Of course he was! He’s a freak of nature!” Artemis laughs, then her voice lowers when she adds, “He was _my_ freak…”

The Waitress bites back a horrific memory of screwing Frank Reynolds to get back at Dennis. Frank is not what she would call attractive… but definitely a freak. “So… he broke up with you?”

Artemis slams her palm on the table. The condiments jump an inch, and other diners swivel to look at the source of the sudden noise. “Men! I’m sick of them. Aren’t you?”

The Waitress nods grimly.

At that second, their waiter appears and delivers steaming hot meals, then flies away to tend to the other customers. Part of her sympathises with him, but it wouldn’t hurt to up the customer service a notch. Guess she shouldn’t be complaining since it’s not like she has the money to tip the guy.

As she begins to dig into her meal, the conversation continues on the track of talking about the gang and how terrible they are. Admittedly, The Waitress doesn’t mind because Artemis actually _knows_ who these people are. Artemis _understands_ that there’s no being nice to these people, that’s not how you can pass through - let alone survive - in their circle. And it’s so different talking about those crazy people with Artemis compared to how it’s like with her therapist. It’s _cathartic_ , that’s what it is. She only worries that once she’s exhausted every bitchy thing to say about them, she won’t have anything left to talk about.

Of course, she has nothing to worry about because Artemis easily steers the conversation away from the gang and the freaky shit she got up to with Frank Reynolds (that The Waitress doesn’t really want to know anyway), and starts talking about food and cooking and about all the new recipes she inherited from her Aunt but hasn’t had the chance to cook yet. Surprisingly enough, talking about normal things with her doesn’t get boring. Rather, as the evening goes on and The Waitress fights off her tiredness, she becomes more and more interested in who Artemis is as a person. She’s far more interesting than Dee made her believe. She even has more in common with Artemis than she thought, and becomes more than eager to find out what else Artemis is into, what she’s passionate about, and what she’s done in her life - with so much effort to skip around mentions of kinky shit.

Before she knows it, Artemis is paying for the bill and they’ve migrated to the night draped street and The Waitress finds that she doesn’t want her time with Artemis to end. They stand close in the cool air as they wait for a taxi. Artemis’ hand on her elbow, thumb caressing her arm. She’s hanging on every word, hovering like a creep and _thank god_ Artemis says something first because The Waitress would be kicking herself later if they were to part ways then and there.

“Want to come back to mine? We can smoke.”

Normally she would say no. She has never been much of a smoker but she is so enamoured by Artemis that she’ll say yes to literally anything if it means she can spend a little more of her night with her.

She tries to play it cool and not sound so totally desperate for human contact when she gives her reply, hoping that she isn’t as totally transparent as she thinks she is.

When a cab rolls up, the two climb in. Immediately, the driver starts making small talk, seemingly knowing Artemis.

“Nothing sexual allowed, my goddess!” He calls out loudly.

Artemis sends her a sultry wink. “I’m on probation.”

Artemis may be on ‘probation’, and The Waitress doesn’t want to get her banned from cabs (if that’s really a thing), but Artemis keeps doing something that’s making her shiver in want. At first, The Waitress had been looking out the window, watching the city rolling past, and then her eyes had snapped to where Artemis had suddenly laid her hand over her thigh, using it to secure herself as she had leaned forward to banter with the driver. The Waitress thought it might be a one off because Artemis returns to her seat, hands to herself… only she does it again. Artemis leans forward to exchange a heated handful of quips with the driver, and she’s gripping The Waitress’ thigh again… and… it’s more than just friendly. It’s flirty as _fuck_.

Artemis’s thumb caresses her inner thigh, and The Waitress can’t take her eyes off the contrast of Artemis’ purple painted nails against her skin, the forefinger and middle nails trimmed short. Artemis’ laugh booms around the vehicle and her grip tightens and The Waitress is aware of how loudly she’s breathing, her thighs clenching, an overwhelming want to grab Artemis’ hand and shove it where she wants like a horny teengaer.

She bites her lips. Jesus Christ… she’s so wet.

Artemis flops back in her seat, laughing still, her eyes glinting and a smile splitting up her face. While she’s catching her breath, her chest calming, The Waitress slinks closer to her, bends into the shape of her and she’s screaming inside for being so forward when she kisses Artemis because is she taking this too fast? Then again, is she really asking this about _Artemis Dubois_? The Waitress sets her lack-of-dating experience (of late) aside and concentrates on the kiss. Artemis tastes like the pasta they had for dinner, and despite not having a drop of alcohol, she’s clumsy, light headed. Artemis’ hand curling around her waist, hers clinging onto the hem of Artemis’ fur shrug. Her heart hammers in her throat, she can feel that her underwear bunching up, her buttcheeks sticking to the seat, and then Artemis is groping her boobs, her fingers slipping beneath the satin, a nail toying with her nipple.

“No more sex!” The cab driver announces as he tallies up the fare, “Destination reached!”

She says it’s her high heels that gives her trouble getting out of the cab, transparency be damned. Nevertheless, after paying the fare, Artemis slings her arms around The Waitress’ shoulders and helps her up to her apartment. Heels off, bare feet on the ground, Artemis’ body close to hers. She feels as giddy as she had earlier when she was dreaming about Art, but it’s better now because Artemis is real. And she’s really into her too.

She takes her shoes off while she waits for Artemis to open the door and leans against the wall, not caring that her dress has hitched up, and trying not to reveal how tired she is by yawning. Before Artemis shows her in, she gives The Waitress a once over with the most sultry look on her face and it’s _something else_ to feel so desired. The next thing she knows Artemis has planted her hands on her hips and The Waitress slings her arms around Artemis’ neck and eagerly kisses her. The hallway light flickering, muffled noises of the other tenants behind closed doors, and the wet smack of their lips.

The Waitress can feel the soft swell of Artemis’ breasts beneath her arms and can taste Artemis’ smile when she peels off and pulls The Waitress inside her apartment. She’s already breathless but is somehow able to gasp when she spots a particularly stunning item of furniture -  a brass sculpture of a woman offering a globe to the sky. The globe glows when Artemis claps her hands, along with the rest of the lighting in her apartment, illuminating the space in warm, earthy colours. She kicks her shoes off by the door, hoping she isn’t being disrespectful by tossing her shoes over Artemis’, but has little time to worry because Artemis pulls her into the living room, embraces her and pulls her down to a comfortable couch.

Once she’s off her feet again, she can’t hold back anymore. She wants what she wants. She slings one leg over Artemis’ lap and Artemis is a smart girl, she’s already getting the picture - or is as hungry as she is - because Artemis slides her hand down The Waitress’ thigh and slips her fingers beneath the stretched, damp underwear. The Waitress moans low and needy when Artemis slips her fingers inside, throws her head back on the arm of the couch and takes in everything that Artemis gives her. The angle is only a slight problem, her underwear and her too-tight dress too, but they’re no barriers for Artemis, and she keeps moving in just the right way to build up an orgasm.

The Waitress sits up and kisses Artemis in between moans and she rocks her hips to work Artemis’ fingers deeper. Artemis isn’t quiet either - keeps moaning encouragingly, appreciatively too, when The Waitress moves to straddle her lap to give Artemis more access to her pussy. The Waitress looks down on Artemis - her curly hair a mess and her eyes dark with lust and her lips saying something, mouthing off dirty epithets and The Waitress feels like she should be doing something more than just riding Artemis’ hand, but her whole body is tensing up and all she can manage is a sloppy, suction of a kiss on Artemis’ neck while she comes.

“Fuck…”

Slowly, her body starts to relax, and rather than coasting long on a good fuck, she starts to feel a sense of dread because she hopes that this isn’t the end. Artemis pulls her fingers out, but lingers, rubbing The Waitress’ labia between her fingers before trying to lift the smaller woman off her. The Waitress doesn’t budge. Instead, she rolls her hips and picks at Artemis’ shirt. Artemis laughs, lets her pull her shirt over her head. The Waitress stops to marvel at the purple lacy bra Artemis had chosen to wear. She takes her lips to Artemis’ left breast, carefully scooping her hand beneath the bra cup to fondle her while she kisses along the crest.

“I like your energy girl,” Artemis says, a hand caressing The Waitress’ neck, “But I’m gonna need a smoke break.”

It’s the best promise of more The Waitress has received in years. As sensually as she can, she unwinds herself from around Artemis and slinks back onto one side of the couch. Artemis saunters away, rounds an ornate gold divider and, as The Waitress tugs off her wet underwear, she can hear bed springs squeak behind her. A yawn stifles her heart from beating faster. She adjusts her minidress, wondering perhaps if she should just take the whole thing off, but opting to leave it on out of laziness. She stretches out on the couch, posing seductively, and pulls a cushion beneath her head for support.

Artemis returns with a wolf whistle on her tongue and a hookah in hand. She clears some space on the coffee table for her to set up the contraption and The Waitress can tell that Artemis’ gaze keeps getting distracted. The Waitress fights back another yawn, clinging onto how turned on she is, but her tiredness from earlier is creeping up on her fast. She focuses on watching what Artemis is doing while her eyes droop. Lying down was probably a bad idea. She tries to distract herself by squirming her legs together, trying to keep her body busy and enjoying how wet and hot she is, but unfortunately it’s not doing much to help. The last thing she remembers is seeing Artemis’ face disfigured in a haze of smoke before, rather embarrassingly, passing out.

 

-

 

She wakes in a dimly lit room. For a hot second, she forgets where she is, then, as the warm lighting settles in her vision, she remembers that she’s in Artemis’ apartment. She opens her eyes and on the opposite wall in front of her, she sees a wooden dresser with a TV on top, and a large menorah positioned behind it. She can faintly see her lone reflection in the black LCD screen.

She pats around to try and find her purse but it doesn’t seem to be nearby, and she’s still too groggy to sit up. From the couch, she searches the room for something to tell her the time. To her left is the gold divider with Artemis’ clothes hanging over the top. Behind her head is the fireplace which is filled with a number of thick candles in lieu of firewood. Above the mantelpiece are a number of paintings - a lady gnome, a grey wolf curled up to sleep, a portrait of a dark skinned woman, two small framed postcards, a couple of animals standing on their back feet and marching with weapons, an oil painting of a cross section of the inside of a human. These are all basked in a warm orange glow from two lamps above the fireplace, and on the adjacent walls are mounted guitars of various sizes. Some dusty looking halloween decorations hang from the tuning pegs of each.

She can’t seem to spot a clock anywhere, but judging by the lack of sunlight anywhere, she guesses it must still be night time. She hopes that means she hasn’t been asleep for very long. She looks at the coffee table where the hookah once was, then at the cushion Artemis had knelt on while smoking. That’s all packed up now. The apartment dead silent.

It would be strange for Artemis to have left her alone in her apartment. She must be around, but God… how is The Waitress going to face her after literally passing out on her couch like a total dickhead. If it was anyone else, The Waitress would try and sneak out. It would be the only honorable thing left to do. But the thing is, she actually cares about how she’s left things. She doesn’t want to leave it so up in the air as to whether or not this is just a one night stand, or could be something else… Hopefully Artemis is fairly forgiving.

She sits up slowly. A blanket slips down to her lap, and she blinks at it, guilt seizing her throat. She’s made this kind of a flop, huh?

She gets to her feet and walks two steps across a rug before spotting Artemis dressed in comfortable clothes and sitting in a ridiculously large, round wicker chair shaped like a peacock’s tail fanned out. She’s sitting in it with her legs crossed, reading a book about herbology. She’s not sure if it’s because she’s still waking up or if it’s because it is actually really smoky in the apartment, but there’s a light haze blanketing the air, softening hard edges, and making Artemis look like a dream when she glances up to meet The Waitress’s gaze.

“Hey,” Artemis says with a smile that crinkles her eyes.

“Hey…” The Waitress replies, “How long was I asleep for?”

“Mmm.. You slept through the night.”

The Waitress nods at first expecting Artemis to reply by saying only a few hours, but her eyes go wide when she registers exactly what Artemis had said. She dashes over to the thick curtains that cling to the window beside where Artemis is sitting and peers outside the window.

The Waitress gasps. “It’s sunrise.”

“I didn’t want to wake you. Do you have somewhere to be?” Artemis asks, dropping one foot to the ground as she turns in her chair.

“No, I… uh, I actually don’t,” The Waitress replies, leaving the curtains. “Pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all. I was hoping you’d stay.”

The Waitress places one hand over the wicker tail of the chair, her other hand around her waist. “Are you sure?”

“Stay as long as you’d like, sweet thing!”

The Waitress nods in an attempt to answer coolly, and not reveal how she’s beaming on the inside. She steps backward, her heels knocking on the frame of Artemis’ bed.

“Would you like some tea?” Artemis asks, closing her book.

“It’s alright, you stay there. I’ll help myself.”

Artemis looks up at her, then back to her book. “Sure. The kettle is still hot.”

The Waitress pads into the next room, intrigued by the different textured rugs beneath her feet, helping to ground her in a somewhat disoriented daze. It’s just so weird… that she’s… still here. That Artemis hasn’t kicked her out even though she passed out on her couch. She turns around to look at Artemis, just to make sure she’s not dreaming, and sees her curled up in the chair again, book propped in her lap and a pencil in hand.

“The kitchenette is in the corner,” Artemis prompts her without looking up from her book.

The Waitress shivers. She turns back and finds the kitchenette in the corner of the small dining room. There’s barely enough bench space to store Artemis’ various appliances, or the mosaic bowl filled with curious kinds of fruit. The Waitress (luckily or unluckily) never ventured into hipster cafe work and so she isn’t familiar with the types of fruit nestled in the bowl. She picks up a green bumpy one, sniffs it, then places it back in the bowl.

Just by placing the fruit back how it was, the whole balance of the items on the benchtop becomes upset, and it’s a race against time to make sure nothing falls off the bench. Thankfully she doesn’t make too much noise, but doesn’t want to rifle through the area to find where the tea is, so she opts for opening up the cupboards above the sink and… does not expect to see what she finds there.  Inside, packed into every shelf and crevice, is a _crazy_ amount of sex toys. She immediately closes the cupboards.

“The tea is in the red cabinet next to the fridge!” Artemis calls out.

This time she locates the tea selection with no problems, and even finds mugs stacked on top of the cabinet. She sets about preparing a mug of tea, pouring the already boiled water into her mug and steeping the tea bag.

“You didn’t stay up all night did you?” She replies, her voice loud.

Artemis laughs. “Oh, girl.”

The Waitress frowns. Her gaze moves to the cupboards above the sink and well, she was just frightened by the quantity. She’s a vanilla girl by practice, but that isn’t to say she isn’t curious. Not now, though, she thinks. If she can make this less of a flop, maybe there’ll be another time where Artemis can run her through how some of those things work.

Behind her, she hears a disc tray eject and shortly after, Artemis’ apartment is filled with basque music. She quickly finishes making her tea and brings the barely hot mug with her as she walks back into the main room. She spots Artemis perched on the end of her bed and, nervously (though there’s no reason to be nervous), The Waitress sips on her tepid tea. Except instead of a sip, she takes a large gulp and downs the whole thing.

Artemis eyes her. “Want me to read your tea leaves?”

The Waitress stands there awkwardly with her empty mug, and still dressed in her skimpy mini dress. “Um, sure.”

“Come on, let’s see what’s left behind,” Artemis says, waving her hand encouragingly.

The Waitress obliges. Wanders over and sits beside Artemis on her bed covered in soft, silky bedding. Artemis is good about it. She wraps both her hands around the mug, her fingers caressing The Waitress’ hand as she studies the remnant tea inside the mug. The Waitress looks at Artemis’ curly hair, then glances at a small wooden cupboard which is mounted on the wall above Artemis’ bed, and beside her window. Balanced on top is a small menorah that looks handmade.

Artemis’ hand travels up The Waitress’, chasing the freckles on her arm, meeting the curve of her elbow, all the while her eyes are trained on the mug, a frown creased in her brow.

“What does the tea say about me?” The Waitress asks finally, her voice shaky.

Artemis hangs her head for a moment, then when she lifts it, a smile breaks out on her face. She pries the mug from The Waitress’ hand and tucks it away somewhere safe beside the bed, chuckling the whole time. “It doesn’t say anything, you used a teabag!”

The Waitress laughs. Artemis’ hands find her again, on her elbows, on her collarbones. The Waitress closes her eyes, heart beating fast, a short kiss that leaves her panting. Her eyes open to see a hazy vision of Artemis, her curls framing her face. Just a day ago, Artemis was someone else entirely to her. Artemis moves her hands to cup The Waitress’ face, a touch so gentle, so ashen soft. Hearts pounding. Lips parting and wanting. They kiss again, giving way to passion and finally The Waitress’ thrifted dress comes off. A zipper from top to bottom. The fabric slides off her and she entangles herself around Artemis, the cotton of her clothes soft against The Waitress’ naked chest.

Artemis kisses down The Waitress’ neck, hands fondling her breasts, wet kisses trailing down lower, over the curve of her stomach, the dip in her bellybutton, the fraction of skin exposed above her flimsy underwear. She drops off the bed and pulls The Waitress’ legs over her shoulders, then she feels Artemis mouth her through her underwear, sucking, tongue pressing against the fabric, and her fingers sliding down to meet beneath the fabric, tickling her pubic hair along the way.

“Oh my God!” The Waitress cries.

Artemis wastes no more time in eating her out. The Waitress moans when he feels Artemis tug her underwear down and slings them away. She drives her fingers into Artemis’ hair and massages her head as the woman works her.

“Want me to - ah - want me to do anything?”

Artemis pauses, lifting her head to send The Waitress a wink. “Oh no, honey, you’re doing _everything_ for me.”

Artemis goes back to her work, only to be interrupted again.

“Ah! But I’m not-”

“Hush!” Artemis says, “Your sounds are enough!”

The Waitress props herself up on her elbows and is able to see now that, at the same time as eating her out, Artemis is also fingering herself. Relieved that she isn’t being a selfish dick, The Waitress flops back on the bed and surrenders herself to the pleasure. And god damn it, Artemis good at this! The Waitress’ back arches and Artemis’ hand grips her thigh and her whole body feels weightless and wriggling for more all at the same time. She feels Artemis moans vibrate against her inner thighs, feels the jerky reactions through her legs over Artemis’ shoulders, feels the heat build and finish and build again, endlessly. Seemingly, endless. The sun spinning through the sky, day and night, cycling through the calendar as Artemis sucks her dry and kisses life back into her, over and over.

And when their bodies are aching and they can’t keep it up any longer, they draw to the bed, bodies sticky and heated and lie in each other’s arms. Breathing heaving, thighs quivering and hearts alight with the passion they shared for hours on end as the day broke out around them. The sun high, their smiles bright and as they doze through the oncoming afternoon, The Waitress doesn’t need any reassurances to know that their date (perhaps first of many), was far from a flop.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought :D


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